


Bloodlust

by un-shit-yourself (fenix_down)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Coming Untouched, Dagger Kink, Grey Warden Stamina, Hair-pulling, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Multi, Object Insertion, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Restraints, Rough Sex, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Justice watched the scene through his eyes and Anders could feel the harsh and not-entirely-unexpected spark of arousal flooding from the spirit, but it wasn’t meant for Hawke. Justice had been enamored with the sharp glint of the blade as it hissed through the air, the way the templar’s blood dripped from the point, and the way Hawke’s fingers wrapped around its curved grip. Another spark jolted through him, his blood heating as Justice imagined the taste of lyrium-infused blood on his lips, the sharpness of the blade against skin, and running his fingers down the tapering handle to the subtle and arched knot of the pommel.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an ask prompt for [mevima](http://mevima.tumblr.com) that went totally out of control.

The templars had become bolder, and Anders was thankful that Hawke and Isabela were with him. He’d been called to a shack in Darktown to see to someone too sick to move, and on the way back they’d run across three knights who were rounding up “suspected apostates,” intimidating and threatening refugees with no actual aim other than to serve as a bit of sport. Hawke helpfully suggested that they could find better sport with him, which was why he and his fellow rogue were dancing out of the way of swords while Anders tried to protect them with what little power he had remaining.

It had seemed like a fairly easy fight, until Hawke mistepped and caught a slice against his armor. Anders immediately cast a healing spell for him and fumbled at his pouch for the lyrium he kept for emergencies. He felt Justice already humming through his veins with the excitement of the attack, and when he tipped his head and swallowed the potion he felt Justice almost roar to the surface and take out the templars himself.

“Witnesses,” Anders hissed, and Justice eased back but still floated through his mind, almost purring from the cool burn of lyrium in his veins. Lyrium always triggered slight euphoria in mages, but Justice was another being entirely.

He found himself staring at Hawke as he dispatched one of the templars, effortlessly twisting behind the knight and stabbing through the protective armor, a weakness between two plates that he’d noticed and marked for future reference months ago. As the templar slumped to his knees, Hawke ripped off the knight’s helmet and slit his throat, the blood pooling down the flaming sword emblem on the chestpiece. Hawke’s eyes found his to verify Anders was safe, and he winked, raising the dagger in mock-salute before leaping to Isabela’s side.

Justice watched the scene through his eyes and Anders could feel the harsh and not-entirely-unexpected spark of arousal flooding from the spirit, but it wasn’t meant for Hawke. Justice had been enamored with the sharp glint of the blade as it hissed through the air, the way the templar’s blood dripped from the point, and the way Hawke’s fingers wrapped around its curved grip. Another spark jolted through him, his blood heating as Justice imagined the taste of lyrium-infused blood on his lips, the sharpness of the blade against skin, and running his fingers down the tapering handle to the subtle and arched knot of the pommel.

The lyrium caused the normal mental barriers between them to weaken, letting images of Justice’s thoughts and desires flood his awareness. He saw himself kneeling before Justice and trailing his tongue up the flat of the blade, the taste of copper and metal suddenly sharp in his mouth. “Justice,” he moaned softly, and looked to where Hawke and Isabella fought the remaining two templars, but they seemed to be content to just toy with their prey for a minute or two longer. “Not now, no...”

 _Yes_. The answer was sharp and made him shiver, Justice showing him what he wanted and knowing that Anders wanted it, even now, even in the midst of a fight, wanted to get on his knees and bring his mouth to the hilt of Hawke’s dagger as Justice held it out to him, let his tongue and lips work along the grip as if it were Justice’s cock, take the curved end of it between his lips and moan around it with Justice’s hand clenched in his hair. He wanted Justice to run the tip of the blade across his body, grazing and just-barely sharp, teasing him until he was breathless, then pressing the tip against a thigh, slight drops welling in a line across pale skin until Justice lapped at them with his tongue.

“Fuck, yes,” Anders groaned, startling as Hawke and Isabela came towards him.

“Are you hurt?” Hawke asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“No, no… just exhausted,” Anders said quickly, turning away and thankful that his layers of clothing could hide his erection. “Let’s get out of here.”

Justice still twisted hotly inside of him, and after finally insisting to Hawke and Isabela that he was fine and needed rest, he ran to the back of his clinic, kneeling on the cot and quickly unlacing his pants.

He pulled his straining cock free and moaned against the hand pressed against his mouth out of instinct to muffle noise. Through the warmth of the lyrium and the rush of battle, Justice burned and hummed, prickling his skin as he stroked his cock and forcing more images into his mind; Anders on his knees again with Justice behind him, twisting Anders’ head back to kiss him with bloody lips, biting his neck, trailing the point of the dagger across a nipple, fingers smearing red streaks across his skin. Anders naked and panting, face down with his hands behind him to spread his cheeks and let Justice press the oiled handle of the dagger against his hole.

Anders’ lips parted against his fingers, stroking harder, jerking into his fist while Justice made him ache with longing and need. The spirit took control of that hand and thrust fingers between Anders’ lips, and the mage moaned and sucked on them hungrily, the imagined version of him doing the same with Justice’s free hand as Justice fucked him with the hilt, that curved end rubbing hard against his prostate as the dagger thrust into his hole, so thick at the base, oil dripping between his legs and hearing Justice growl at the sight.

 _Beautiful,_ Anders felt in his mind. _Fierce. Proud. Mine._

Anders shuddered and bit his fingers as he came, groaning loud and deep, flickering blue as Justice reached forward to feel the hot spurt of his come across his fingers and raise them to his lips, to taste the hint of lyrium in the salty bitterness that signified their joining.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Aww, poor love,” Hawke teased. “Here.” He grabbed Anders’ hand, and before he could react, Hawke leaned over Anders' shoulder, pulled his hand to his lips, and kissed the tiny puncture. Anders’ eyes fell to Hawke’s mouth, warm against his skin, and when the rogue pulled back the faint trace of blood remained on his lower lip. Hawke winked and licked his lips._
> 
> _And it was enough; Justice had sat waiting, impatient from the night before, the conjured fantasies and frantic touching only serving to fuel this new hunger that burned through them both. The only warning was a flash of blue in Anders’ eyes, and then Justice grabbed Hawke’s head and crushed their mouths together._

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked the next day, finding Anders in the quiet part of the afternoon to bring him proceeds from his latest venture. He set the small bag of gold next to the mage while he sorted herbs in his back room, and leaned against the table, just watching him in that sharp way that made Anders’ spine tingle.

Anders’ eyes flicked from Hawke’s intense gaze to the door of the clinic behind him, and he hoped his shrug was convincing. “I’ve been working too hard. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do. ‘All work and no play make Anders a dull boy,’” Hawke said. He leaned in behind him, letting his breath caress Anders’ ear, voice sultry and dark. “Maybe you need someone to play with.” 

“How sweet of you to offer,” Anders replied coyly, not looking up. “Wouldn’t want to take time out of your busy schedule.” His hands fumbled with dried spindleweed, trying to gather into an orderly bunch.

“Benefits to being your own boss, the schedule is yours to command.” Hawke put a hand on Anders’ hip, and pressed closer until his heat burned Anders through his coat. “And it seems like there’s an ‘opening’ that could be filled.”

Hawke chuckled at Anders’ groan of annoyance, and the mage rolled his eyes and nudged Hawke with his hip. The rogue responded by licking Anders’ earlobe, which caused a flinch and a curse as a spindleweed thorn pricked through Anders’ skin. 

“Shit,” he said, and pulled the tiny barb out of his thumb, a drop of red welling in its place.

“Aww, poor love,” Hawke teased. “Here.” He grabbed Anders’ hand, and before he could react, Hawke leaned over Anders' shoulder, pulled his hand to his lips, and kissed the tiny puncture. Anders’ eyes fell to Hawke’s mouth, warm against his skin, and when the rogue pulled back the faint trace of blood remained on his lower lip. Hawke winked and licked his lips.

And it was enough; Justice had sat waiting, impatient from the night before, the conjured fantasies and frantic touching only serving to fuel this new hunger that burned through them both. The only warning was a flash of blue in Anders’ eyes, and then Justice grabbed Hawke’s head and crushed their mouths together. 

Hawke made a strangled noise but gave in willingly, letting Justice thrust his tongue between his lips to catch whatever taste of Anders still remained. The hand on Hawke’s head grabbed his half-ponytail and twisted; Hawke groaned and pressed against Justice, forcing his hips against the table to grind against his ass. Hawke’s hands were already fumbling to get into clothing, running across Justice’s chest and down his hips while the spirit growled. 

Hawke pulled away for air and laughed a little. “Someone’s needy,” he said, hand finally slipping into clothes to touch warm skin.

“We have a request,” Justice said, hissing a breath and trailing his mouth across Hawke’s jaw. “Anders is not certain of your reaction.”

“Anders should know better,” Hawke said, smirking and rocking Justice against the table, grinding his half-hard cock against his ass. “He’s seen how flexible I can be.”

Justice pulled Hawke’s hair with a growl. “Insufferable. Do you wish to know the request or not?”

“Yes. Especially if Anders is worried. Is it dirty? Is it absolutely _depraved_?” Hawke’s tongue traced up Justice’s ear, then bit the lobe until the spirit fisted his hair so hard that his eyes watered. “I hope it is.”

“I have watched you slay templars before, but yesterday you were beautiful,” Justice gasped, Hawke’s mouth trailing down his neck. “Graceful. Deadly. Their blood dripped from your blades and it... shook me. I wanted more. Anders wanted more.”

“I’ll give you more,” Hawke promised, biting into the soft skin under his ear, hand up Justice’s tunic to rub a nipple with his thumb. “Tell me?” He’d abandoned pretense and was thrusting against the spirit wantonly, tonguing the glowing crack of fade energy that ran from neck to shoulder, and Justice growled, needy, the hand not wound in Hawke’s hair gripping the rogue’s hip and pulling him closer as they rocked against the table. 

"We have used our magic on you before. Your magic is in your precision, your passion, your knives. Use your magic on Anders," Justice snarled, relishing Hawke’s startled gasp, and pressed the man's lips to his neck insistently. "Tease him with your daggers... slide the blade across his skin, taste his blood, feed it to him, to _us_ , oh..." The spirit arched back as Hawke shuddered and bit down, sucking a mark roughly into his flesh. "Make him tongue the hilt, moaning in anticipation. _Fuck him_ with it," he continued, panting. "...until he cannot breathe from screaming. I will hold him down, hold him back… we want this, do not deny us."

“Maker, fuck,” Hawke moaned. “Yes. Justice. Anders, you…”

The glowing ceased, and Anders’ voice was shaking, his body still grinding back into Hawke’s.. “Please, I need it, I want it…” He stilled suddenly as he heard the creak of wood, and Hawke whimpered in frustration. “Was that…”

“Fuck it, they can wait…”

“Hawke, this is a _clinic_ , they can’t.” Someone called out for Anders, and he gasped as Hawke’s mouth latched down onto his shoulder again. “Ah… one moment!” He managed to turn in Hawke’s arms and was met with a searing kiss that almost faltered his resolve, but Justice hummed against him, unconcerned with his current state of arousal in the face of someone needing care. “Love, not here…”

Hawke cursed and looked at Anders pleadingly. “You’re killing me. You’re _both_ killing me, this is not just.”

“Your argument is valid,” Justice said, but he was still pushing Hawke away. “Do you wish for Anders to remedy your ailment?”

“Fucking _yes_.”

The blue glow faded as Ander’s hand went to Hawke’s abdomen, up under his tunic, and before the rogue could step closer, the mage conjured a burst of frost against his skin and made him yelp loudly. “It’ll have to do for now,” Anders said, smirking as Hawke clutched his stomach and cursed. 

“ _Killing me_ ,” Hawke insisted, slumping against the wall in defeat.

“You'll have to get vengeance tonight, then,” Anders replied, a brief flash of blue in his eyes before he turned and left to see his patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a bad person :D mevima started the trend of cliffhanger-smut, blame her. don't worry, anders will get what's coming to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As soon as he’d stepped foot into the house, Anders had been dragged upstairs and pinned against the private side of Hawke’s bedroom door, and, overwhelmed by an urgent mouth and wandering hands, he didn’t notice the mirror until he’d broken away long enough to catch his breath._
> 
>  
> 
> _“What’s that for?” he gasped, head hitting the wood as he twisted so Hawke could suck on his neck._
> 
>  
> 
> _The rogue chuckled against his skin. “Don’t want Justice to feel left out,” he replied, unbuckling Anders’ coat with deft hands and navigating cloth to reach under his tunic. ‘“Thought he might appreciate having a good view.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by mevima.

As soon as he’d stepped foot into the house, Anders had been dragged upstairs and pinned against the private side of Hawke’s bedroom door, and, overwhelmed by an urgent mouth and wandering hands, he didn’t notice the mirror until he’d broken away long enough to catch his breath.

“What’s that for?” he gasped, head hitting the wood as he twisted so Hawke could suck on his neck. 

The rogue chuckled against his skin. “Don’t want Justice to feel left out,” he replied, unbuckling Anders’ coat with deft hands and navigating cloth to reach under his tunic. “Thought he might appreciate having a good view.”

“Oh, Maker,” Anders moaned, Hawke’s fingers and Justice’s eager humming making him shiver.

The rectangular mirror that was normally on the vanity had been placed at the head of the bed, against the headboard. Hawke pushed Anders backwards towards the bed, one hand on his coat to pull it off of him as he went, tugging at his tunic with the other. “So I guessed correctly?”

“It’s… ah, a novel idea,” Anders responded, already out of breath with anticipation. His legs hit the bed and he fell back, turning his head to the side to see himself spread out on the silk sheets, and he blushed. “Did you… you nailed that up?” He laughed, and Hawke swatted his thigh.

“You won’t be laughing once I’ve got you bent over in front of it.” The rogue grinned dangerously, looking at Anders’ reflection in the mirror, lit warmly by the ambient glow of the fireplace. “Though this is nice, too. What does Justice think?”

Blue light cascaded over Anders’ skin as the spirit came forward. “It is still curious to see myself within Anders,” Justice said, one hand touching his chest.

Hawke straddled his waist and leaned down, pressing his lips to Justice’s and feeling the tingle of energy against his tongue. Hands grabbed at him fiercely and held him close until they were both out of air. “You’ll get to watch,” Hawke said, panting, “Everything you want me to do to him, all the ways you want me to make him scream. You’ll get a proper view of your own this way.”

Justice growled and thrust his hips up into Hawke’s. “Good.” He turned his head towards the mirror, and the blue cracks faded from Anders’ skin, but his amber eyes were haloed in a slight glow, both he and Anders taking in their reflections. “You really are inventive, aren’t you, love?” Anders said, smirking. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hawke replied, grinning. He kissed the mage’s chin and stood up, taking in his half-clothed lover. “This won’t do.” He tugged at Anders’ waistband idly.

Anders turned back to Hawke and was about to make a light-hearted comment about his preparation only going so far, but Hawke reached behind himself and pulled a dagger from his belt, and all sound died on his lips. It was a shorter blade than he normally used, slightly curved with an edge that glinted in the firelight. The handle had only a slight guard, and the grip was smooth save for some small engravings. What drew Anders’ eye, though, was the pommel; the end of the handle curved into itself, leaving a coil of smooth metal at the base with an angle that made Anders’ eyes widen.

Hawke flipped it between his fingers and caressed the handle. “I have a few. I looked for the perfect one. You think this will do?”

“Yes,” Justice said, as the mage’s eyes blazed, “Anders also approves.”

“Good,” Hawke said, managing to look both pleased with himself and dangerous, and a thrill traveled down Anders’ spine. He tapped the flat of the blade against the inside of Anders’ clothed knee. “Let’s do rules first. You keep him still, and if anything is too much, Anders, tell me.”

Energy rushed across his skin as Justice raised his arms and held them over his head, crossing his wrists, and Anders made a soft noise that may have been a whimper. “I will. I’ll… Justice knows. He can tell.”

“He can, but I can’t.” The tapping grew more insistent. “Say… ‘lyrium.’ Yeah?”

“Lyrium,” Anders agreed to the safeword, trying to ignore Justice squirming with excitement inside him.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”

“Yes, Maker yes. Please,” Anders begged, writhing a little against Justice’s grasp. “I can’t think of anything else, and neither can he.”

The deadly smirk was back, and the tapping against Anders’ knee stopped. “This isn’t going to fix that,” he said, and Anders breathed a laugh at the memory of their first night together. 

It turned into a gasp when the edge of the blade ran down his clothed thigh, pressing delicately enough to cut fabric but not skin. The thrill of Hawke’s eagerness conflicted with his destitute status, and Anders made a face. “I don’t have many clothes.”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll buy you more later.” He pulled up Anders’ waistband and sliced into the fabric, the dagger cutting through easily, and with a ragged, tearing sound his trousers were ripped from him, the remnants clinging to his boots. Justice made a pleased noise in Anders’ throat, and forcibly turned Anders’ head to make him watch the rogue’s actions through the mirror.

“Still upset about your clothes?” Hawke teased, and Anders shook his head, biting his lip as he watched the dagger in Hawke’s hands inch closer to his skin. “Hmm, I seem to have forgotten what it was I was supposed to do to you. Maybe Justice should remind me.”

“You have not forgotten,” Justice grumbled. “You are lying to us.”

“Nope, fragile mortal sensibilities and all, simply slipped my mind.” Hawke stepped forward between Justice’s legs and traced the very tip of the dagger across his upper arm, smirking at the echoing gasp he received in return. “Or, maybe I want to hear you say it again.”

“Touch the blade to his skin,” Justice ordered. His eyes met Hawke’s in the mirror, radiant and fierce. “Tease him until he begs, until he aches for more. Make him bleed for you, for _us_.”

Hawke climbed onto the bed between spread legs, nudging Justice to move higher up so one booted leg was bent on the sheets, and he kissed Justice fiercely as he pressed the flat of the blade against their chest. He broke away to see Anders’ honey-coloured eyes looking up at him eagerly, lips parted, arms glowing above his head to hold him in place.

The blade turned as Hawke held it pointed down at Anders’ skin, and as the mage’s head fell to the side to look at their reflections, the tip brushed across Anders’ chest, only leaving the barest sting with the lightness of Hawke’s touch but still causing him to hiss out a breath as the sensation raced through him; the faintest hint of sharpness, but it was still Hawke’s touch. It was Hawke tracing well-practiced patterns of stripes and whorls into his skin, but with metal instead of his fingertips. And _watching it_ at the same time was almost too much, watching through both his eyes and Justice’s as the tip slid around a nipple and back up, along the raised edge of a collarbone and up, higher…

“Ah, Hawke,” Anders moaned when the blade touched his neck, resisting the urge to flinch, to panic, that came from Justice and from his own fears, willing himself to calm because this was _Hawke_ and Hawke was safe, Hawke would always be safe, saying his name reinforced that it was _him_ doing it and they could stop him if they wanted to. Anders didn’t want him to stop, he wanted Hawke to leave scratches and cuts all over him, as proof that he had a lover ( _or lovers_ , he clarified, and felt another pleased hum) who gave him anything he wanted, no matter how depraved his desires were.

“You’re so pale,” Hawke said, the blade caressing along Anders’ chin, “and you always blush so prettily when I touch you. You can see, can’t you?”

Anders’ face flushed even more at the words, looking at his reflection and seeing pink spread across his skin, and thin, delicate lines where the knife had left the faintest scratches along his chest. “Yes,” he said, trying not to writhe as the blade dipped back down his neck.

Hawke dragged the sharp tip along his breastbone, still too light to break skin, but it left fire in its wake as it traveled lower, down the planes of Anders’ stomach to his navel, skirting around delicately, tracing down the line of hair that led into Anders’ smalls where his cock strained at the fabric. Hawke raised an eyebrow at him and smirked, then turned the knife to slide it between Anders’ hip and the cotton, the sharp edge of the dagger facing out and towards the mirror. “Looks like I owe you a new wardrobe,” he teased, and with quick movement he sliced through the fabric like it was nothing, and Anders was too busy shivering with eagerness to notice that his thigh had been nicked in the process.

It was only the tiniest mark, with only a drop of blood welling from it. Hawke gathered it with the knife, staining the metal red and holding it up as if inspecting it, letting it trickle down the blade, and Anders held his breath, eyes darting up to look at Hawke properly. The rogue held his gaze, still leering down at him, and ran his tongue along the flat of the blade, licking it clean, humming in satisfaction. 

Anders nearly arched off the bed, and his arms flared blue as Justice fought to restrain him, the glow returning to his his eyes as his head turned back to the mirror. He whimpered softly, watching Hawke lean down to lap at the scratch on his thigh. “Not quite enough, is it?” the rogue murmured, breath gentle against his skin.

“More. Please.” The voice was Anders’, with the deeper echo behind it showing the spirit’s restlessness.

Hawke’s movements with the blade were patient and deliberate; a slow drag of metal across Anders’ abdomen, another parallel line drawn on his ribs, cuts enough to sting and bite and bleed but not wound, slow and careful in all the ways he wasn’t in battle, treating Anders’ skin like a canvas. Each bite of the knife made Anders gasp, the burn fading into pleasure as Hawke’s hot, wet mouth followed in its wake, lips and tongue dancing against Anders’ skin like an apology. Justice writhed inside Anders, coiling tight and thrumming down his spine while they watched Hawke in the mirror. Anders saw himself through Justice’s eyes and felt the raw need the spirit had for him, the pleasure of watching Anders reduced to panting breaths and moans at Hawke’s hands, all at Justice's order.

Anders cried out as Hawke sliced the blade across his hip suddenly, and the rogue met his eyes and latched on to the wound, sucking and licking at the mage’s skin until his legs shuddered. Hawke raised up and licked his lips, mouth red. “You’re delicious.”

Anders moaned his name, and Hawke gave a last lick before his tongue retraced his work across Anders’ abdomen and chest. Justice surged forward when their lips met to taste the coppery tang of Anders’ blood, a growl spilling from his throat with an echoed moan from Hawke.

“More,” Justice insisted, burning through Anders’ eyes.

“Hmm, I wonder,” Hawke murmured, running a hand along Anders’ restrained arm and along the cracks of fade energy that signified Justice’s presence. The knife hovered for a moment, long enough for Hawke to meet Justice’s eyes in the mirror and raise an eyebrow in a silent question; the spirit rumbled wordlessly in response, but thrust his hips into the rogue’s, and Hawke traced the blade across glowing skin, blood welling and dripping against the blue. Justice’s other arm grabbed Hawke by the hair and twisted his head back, grabbing Hawke’s wrist with his wounded arm, and the bloodied dagger fell to the bed.

“You _dare_?” he hissed, but Hawke’s grin didn’t falter.

“Wanted to see if there was a difference.”

“Arrogant mortal,” Justice growled, ignoring the trail of blood that ran down his elbow to clench Hawke’s hair tighter. “Apologize.”

That earned a whimper. “I’m sorry,” Hawke said, trying very hard to look contrite. “Can I?” His hips ground against Justice’s thigh, rubbing his clothed erection hard against him.

“Yes,” Justice said, finally, and released Hawke’s hair so the rogue could press his mouth against his arm, running his tongue against glowing skin and lapping the blood until the spirit grabbed him again, moaning around Hawke’s mouth as the faint taste of the Fade burned their lips. A shiver wracked Anders’ body as he retook control, hands clenching around Hawke and pulling him closer, kissing fiercely while he writhed against the rogue, not caring about the smear of blood against his skin or Hawke’s clothes.

“Fuck me,” Anders moaned, running his fingers through Hawke’s hair as the rogue bit into his neck sharply, trying to grind his hips into Hawke’s, but the other man pulled back, kneeling up above him. 

“How?” Hawke responded, grasping the blade beside them again.

“You… you heard him, you know… _Maker_.” Anders was already lost in pleasure and his throbbing cock hadn’t even been touched yet; all it took was Hawke and his dagger drawing patterns on his skin, a slice above his nipple and Hawke’s mouth licking and lapping at his chest, then biting the nub harshly until Anders keened and struggled in Justice’s restraint.

“Oh, that’s right,” Hawke said, voice husky and dangerous. The blade left Anders’ skin and the rogue cupped his jaw, licking a stripe along Anders’ neck to his ear, where he whispered, “You want this inside you.”

“Please,” Anders whimpered, face flushed and eyes heavy-lidded. “I need it.”

“I know.” Hawke kissed him, surprisingly gentle, and rose from the bed. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.”

Anders obeyed, watching Hawke through his reflection as he fetched oil from the bedside table, before raking his eyes over the cuts and scratches across his own skin. He could feel each of them, each stripe and whorl from the blade and Hawke’s mouth, and he felt Justice shiver, pleased at the pattern they made on his mortal’s flesh. _Mine_ , Justice thought, triumphantly. _Ours._

Hawke’s movement startled Anders out of his musings, as his legs were spread wider by strong hands on his thighs, caressing up sensitive skin to trace along the junction of his hip and leg. He tipped the oil onto his fingers and caught Anders’ eye in the mirror, smirking. “Enjoying the show, Justice?”

Anders whined as he felt Justice surge forward eagerly, twisting inside of him and making him arch against the sheet, waiting for Hawke’s touch. “Yes,” the spirit said. “Watching you claim him this way, marking him and coaxing noises from him. You are able to do what I cannot.”

“Likewise,” Hawke said, smirking, tracing a finger against Anders’ opening. “You can give him all sorts of things I can’t. All those lovely ideas you put in his head.”

Justice growled as Hawke continued his teasing ministrations. “This stalling is unjust. Continue.”

Hawke chuckled. “If you insist,” he said, and thrust his finger inside before the spirit withdrew, making him howl, the sound fading to a sob in Anders’ voice.

“Maker, Hawke, please, faster…” the mage begged, Justice’s presence still pinning him down and keeping him at Hawke’s mercy.

By the third finger, Anders was desperate, trying to thrust down onto Hawke’s hand only to have Justice hold his hips, keeping him still. “You know why I picked this one?” Hawke asked, raising the dagger to Anders’ view.

“Ah… why?” The response was jagged as Hawke’s fingers pressed up and in, making his legs tremble.

Hawke’s fingers withdrew, and he grinned, fetching the leather sheath for the blade and sliding it over, buckling it around the guard to protect his hand. He tipped the oil down the handle of the dagger and stroked it leisurely, winking. “This little bit at the end, the way it curves like this. I figured you’d enjoy it.”

“Well,” Anders panted, eyes locked on Hawke’s reflection. “Let’s see if you’re right.”

The metal was warm from Hawke’s hand, smooth and hard against Anders’ entrance while the rogue teased him with it, rubbing and so close to breaching him. Anders opened his mouth to plead again but his cry was silenced, turned into a gasp as the pommel pressed forward, beyond the tight ring of muscle, the mage’s toes curling inside his boots as it went deeper, thick and unyielding and _there_ ; the knot at the end grazed Anders’ prostate and he shuddered, breathless.

“Oh fuck,” Hawke swore, his other hand stroking an unmarked patch of skin on Anders’ thigh, watching Anders’ body take the handle all the way to where his fingers gripped around the guard. “It’s that good?”

The mage whimpered in response as Hawke angled the hilt and thrust upward, biting his lip hard to keep from crying out, and Hawke rocked it back and forth within him, running the slick coil against that bundle of nerves, so precise and insistent that Anders wailed and came, back arching, cock spurting along his stomach. His eyes grew heavy but then snapped open, ringed with blue. “Hawke,” he moaned, desperately, his thighs trembling as Hawke kept thrusting the handle inside him.

“I’m here, love,” he murmured, kissing Anders’ knee and sliding his hand down his booted calf. “You want me to keep going?”

“Ahh… yes, please… don’t stop…” Anders strained against Justice’s strength but the spirit was unsympathetic, keeping his hips and arms immobile, his eyes open and locked to the mirror to watch Hawke work the dagger handle in and out of his tight, slick hole. He heard a chuckle between his legs, felt the tip of Hawke’s tongue trace along his thigh, unseen with the way he was positioned, and he felt the complaint in his mind from the spirit. “He… Justice. He wants a better view.”

Hawke’s hand stilled, then withdrew the handle. “Well, he should show me how he wants you, then.” 

Anders let out a sigh, releasing the tension in his legs, and Justice came forward to reposition him on the bed, but not before grabbing Hawke by the tunic and pulling him in for a messy, desperate kiss. “I wish to hear him scream,” the spirit groaned, biting Hawke’s lower lip until it bled, lapping at it hungrily, mouth moving against Hawke’s as he continued. “Do not stop. Not even if he begs for it. I will know when he has had enough.”

“Fucking Maker,” Hawke moaned, “Anything you say.” He pushed Justice away, insistent, and watched as the spirit knelt before the mirror, hands against the headboard. Anders came forward again, arms pinned in place by Justice, and shivered as he saw himself in the mirror, the blue glow still behind his eyes as they flicked over the cuts from the dagger and his flushed, still-hard cock, his stomach sticky with his own release.

Hawke joined him on the bed, kneeling behind him, one arm wrapped around his waist as he nudged Anders’ legs wider apart. The rogue’s mouth trailed along his shoulder and up his neck, pausing to bite and suck and enjoy the way Anders trembled with anticipation. “I won’t stop,” Hawke said, against his ear, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Good,” Anders whispered, and felt the metal end of the pommel brush against his entrance, slicked with fresh oil and still warm as Hawke thrust in, Anders sobbing as it filled him. 

Watching over Anders’ shoulder, Hawke could see the flicker of Justice along Anders’ arms as Hawke fucked him with the dagger, swirling energy dipping down his chest and belly to his cock, back up his sides and along his arms to keep him pinned in place, letting Anders jerk his hips back to meet the solid length of metal and Hawke’s insistent, precise strokes inside him. Hawke circled the pommel as he thrust deeper and Anders keened loudly, cock jerking as he spilled again, half onto the sheets and half on the mirror. The rogue held him close, making soothing noises but still fucking him steadily with the handle, the slick sounds mixing with ragged moans and soft cries of desperation.

The third orgasm made Anders’ voice crack as he called out Hawke’s name, Justice flaring eagerly through his body as he shivered with it. The fourth had him pleading as his eyes watered, come dripping from the mirror before him and leaking from his cock onto the bed. “I… Hawke, please…” he panted.

The rogue rocked against him, grinding himself through his leathers against Anders’ thigh as he held him close. “I’ve got you, love. You’re doing so good,” Hawke whispered against the mage’s ear, arching the dagger up and circling it inside Anders, the firm knot in the pommel nearly torturing him with pleasure.

“Please, I can’t…” he sobbed, but still he ground down against the metal, urging it deeper. “It’s too… I’m…”

Hawke felt the tremor run down Anders’ spine and moaned softly. “You can. Go on, Anders. Come for us again.” He was unrelenting as the mage shook in his arms, gasping, coming undone again with his cock twitching, still red and throbbing. “That’s it. Good.”

“Fuck,” Anders panted, head hanging down and taking in the smears of blood and come on his skin. “Hawke…”

“One more.”

Anders grit his teeth and whined, tossing his head back and forth. “No, I…”

“Say the word?” Hawke asked, gently, slowing his hand, the one not holding the dagger running up and down Anders’ chest soothingly. The mage sobbed a breath and shook his head firmly. “Warden stamina is good for something, eh?”

“Maker, it’s too much…”

“What about Justice?” Hawke asked softly, and a new shudder ran through Anders as the spirit came forward, gasping.

“He wants it… we want… this,” Justice groaned, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the sensations overwhelming him. “You… how can he stand this?” 

The handle slid in deep again and twisted, rubbing steadily and firmly. “One more,” Hawke insisted.

Justice screamed and Hawke held on as his hips bucked forward, body shaking and falling limp, head resting against the mirror and breath fogging the glass, echoing a moan with both his and Anders’ voices. Hawke withdrew the dagger and flung it to the side, easing them down to the bed carefully. The cracks in their skin faded as Justice withdrew, leaving Anders whimpering and sticky.

“Alright?” Hawke asked, pressing a kiss to the mage’s sweaty forehead. 

“In a minute,” Anders mumbled, breathing heavy. “That was… you broke him.”

The rogue laughed and climbed from the bed, excessively pleased with himself. “That’s what he gets for making suggestions.”

“It _was_ a good suggestion,” Anders replied, smirking. 

Hawke pulled his tunic over his head, dipping it into the water basin in the corner and returning to Anders’ side. He gently wiped across his chest, examining the wounds left behind. “You should heal yourself,” he said, as Anders took the shirt from him to finish cleaning himself.

“I will,” Anders promised, pulling the tattered remains of his pants from around his boots.

Hawke pulled his own boots off and stood, untying his leggings. “You should leave those on and heal yourself _now_ ,” he insisted, and Anders looked at him, then cast his eyes down as Hawke’s straining cock was freed. “Because I’m going to fuck you into the mattress.”

Anders’ hand shook slightly as he cast the spell, but he opened his arms when Hawke returned to the bed, naked, eagerly kissing him and moaning into his mouth. “How do you…?”

“Hands and knees. In front of the mirror.” Hawke nibbled at Anders’ lower lip, earning a moan and a hurried move to comply from the mage. Hawke retrieved the oil and coated two fingers, sliding them in and cursing as Anders groaned. “Fuck, how are you still so _tight_ , Maker’s breath.”

“Healing magic, generalized spell… fuck, just please, I want you,” Anders begged, meeting Hawke’s eyes in the mirror. “I think we’re beyond the point of you not wanting to hurt me.”

“Hah, and you’re making _jokes_ , too. You must really feel good.” Despite Anders’ pleading, Hawke slipped a third finger in, working the mage open steadily. “Which, yeah… I’m not going to last, fuck.”

“Fuck me, Hawke,” Anders insisted, rocking back into his hand. “As hard as you want.”

The rogue growled and fisted Anders’ hair, pushing him down as Anders’ hips canted up, face pressed into the sheets as Hawke slid in roughly, groaning again and then fucking him wantonly, fueled by Anders’ muffled moans and cries as he slammed into him, other hand digging welts into the mage’s hip with every thrust.

“Fuck, Anders, _yes_ ,” he whined, pulling at Anders’ hair until his head lifted so he could watch Hawke pound him relentlessly. “So fucking good, always.”

Anders whimpered in response, fingers sliding over the ruined sheets and across the trails of his own come on the mirror. “Harder, please, I need you,” he begged, and waited for Hawke to toss his head back and meet Anders’ gaze before licking his fingers clean. Hawke cried out his name harshly, rocking forward as he thrust deep and came, shuddering and clinging to Anders’ hip and hair hard enough to make the mage hiss.

He pulled them both to the side as he withdrew, chest heaving, Anders curling against him contently and running a hand across skin damp with sweat. “You’ll tell me if Justice has any more ideas, yeah?” Hawke mumbled, exhausted.

“Of course,” Anders said, chuckling and tossing his leg over Hawke’s, rubbing the toe of a boot against his calf. “If he ever wakes up again.”


End file.
